


Oh, When You Love

by scarecrowstories



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Dissociation, Existentialism, Fear, Hope, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Love, M/M, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Post-Apocalypse, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sleepy Cuddles, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23455192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarecrowstories/pseuds/scarecrowstories
Summary: **SLIGHT EP 161 SPOILERS** Jon and Martin have a talk about their situation after Jon witnesses some of his nightmares. He is convinced that he doesn't have enough humanity left to be worth saving. Martin disagrees.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 17
Kudos: 142





	Oh, When You Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, how y'all doing? I'm new here. Binged the whole series twice in the last month. Said I'd wait until I could write post-canon fix-it fics but, well, here I am. PLEASE tell me what you think!

Jon sat up in the bed, looking down at Martin's restlessly sleeping form, and sighed. He'd tried to wake him previously, but to no avail. All he could do was watch as Martin's fingers twitched, his brow creasing as he whimpered intermittently. He wished that he could soothe Martin's pain, rather than feel trapped, powerless to do anything other than watch.

The terror Martin felt flowed through Jon like water. If he closed his eyes, it almost felt like Martin's opening. Every time he blinked he caught flashes of the Lonely, and he knew that that was the place currently torturing his partner. The gut-wrenching vastness of it all, the maddening emptiness, the desperation to connect with someone, something, anything! The resignation that that was impossible there, that the Lonely went on forever without any hope of escape. Despair.

Unable to pull Martin free of its grasp as he did when he saved him, Jon simply slid his hand into Martin's and hoped that it would be enough to take the edge off. There was so much other terror in the world flooding into him, but due to proximity, Martin's managed to be the loudest. 

It also hurt him the most to experience. The giddy delight at the back of his mind turned his stomach sour, strengthening his resolve not to lose his humanity to the Ceaseless Watcher. The part of him that found sustenance in the consumption of fear warred against the rest of him that loved Martin, telling him to observe the other man's pain and celebrate the life it brought him. Nobody blames the wolf for eating the sheep, nor the snake for eating the rat. Why blame the Beholder for Beholding?

"It feels… right." He'd hated admitting that to Martin earlier, disgusted by the broken laugh threatening to bubble up in his throat like the pleasant tickle of a fizzy drink.

He couldn't watch anymore - at least, not in the physical sense. Seeing the muted emotions play out on Martin's face while catching glimpses of images on the inside of his own eyelids was overwhelming, made him feel too much guilt and self-loathing. Leaving his hand still clasping Martin's, he leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes, allowing himself to witness the full scope of Martin's changing nightmare-scape.

Now the Lonely, now his mother's hatred of him. Shifting to that dread of the chase, of being hunted by Jane Prentiss: the clinging stench of rot, the squelch of worms, the muscle-deep intrusion of the corkscrew. The memory of seeing Jon in that hospital bed, his entire world dissolving into a thick, heavy hum at being told he would never wake up.

"I've got you," he murmured, squeezing Martin's hand. "I don’t think you can hear me. But I'm here."

It was a long night.  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
"Good morning," Jon said as Martin blinked a few times. It felt less like a greeting and more like a plea. "How are you feeling?"

Martin grumbled, dragging himself closer to Jon so he could rest his head in his lap, letting his arms fall around Jon's waist. "Bad. But not the worst I've ever been, strangely enough."

Of course he knew what Martin was implying. Jon began stroking his back lightly. "Right. That's…" A sigh. "I don't want to say that's good, but, well… So long as you're okay."

More shifting as Martin cuddled closer, draping more of himself across Jon's lap. "More okay with you," he said, looking up at Jon through his messy bangs hanging in his face. "You probably know already, about the nightmares."

"Yeah," Jon softly admitted, voice straining. "I've got you." He tugged at Martin's sleeve to coax him upward, pulling him fully against his chest in a trembling embrace. "I've got you," he repeated.

Even he wasn't sure if the words were meant to comfort Martin or himself.

They sat like that in silence for a long while. The alien noises of the apocalypse howled and whistled and shrieked and rang in the distance, never distant enough. He tried to focus on Martin's warmth, his heartbeat, his breathing. Anything other than the surges of horror that pulsed through him as surely as his life's blood.

"Is it okay if I kiss you?"

The shy sweetness in Martin's voice momentarily dispelled everything else. Even if that weren't the case, how could he ever say no?

"I'd love it if you would," he answered, pulling back enough to look into Martin's eyes. "I-I know earlier, when I said the fear feels right, I… That scared you to hear. And I want you to know, that this?" He cupped a hand on Martin's cheek, thumb ever-so-gently stroking. "This makes me hold on to being human. Without you, Martin, I'd have already been consumed by it."

"Jon…"

"It's okay. I'm saying this all because I want to. And because, cliché as it is, what good is the end of the world if it doesn't make me speak my mind in case it's the last time I'll get to?" He hesitated, the brief smile he felt welling up melting away at the sadness etched so painfully on Martin's face. "I'm sorry. For everything." 

At that, Martin kissed him. It wasn't exactly a soft kiss, the kind where their lips barely pressed together as their shared breath warmed the minute distance. But it wasn't a rough and passionate kiss full of heat and urgency, either. It was a firm insistence that said, "I forgive you," the steadfast resolve of "It isn't your fault."

How many times had they kissed now in their too-brief relationship? Jon wondered. And how was it that each time could feel so singular, so special?

"I love you," Martin whispered against his lips between kisses. He threaded fingers through Jon's long hair. "I couldn't blame you for this even if I wanted to - and I don't want to. I want to find a way to fix this. Together." Their foreheads came to rest together. Martin kissed the corner of Jon's mouth, feeling his body begin to tremble. "I know we can do this, Jon. We… We just have to."

Jon's response was a noncommittal hum, uninterested in having the same argument again. Of course he admired Martin's optimism, but how could he accept any of it as truth when he alone could see the full shape of what he had wrought? It was like a thousand razor-sharp threads pulling him in a thousand different directions until he was dissolving out of his own body, simultaneously unbearably light and immeasurably heavy. He could resist and risk being torn apart at the seams, or he could give in and float away, perception expanding to partake in fears farther and farther away until 'Jon' ceased to exist.

It would be all too easy to give in to the latter.

"Hey now, don't do that," Martin begged, panicked by the dimming of Jon's eyes. "Stay with me."

All at once he snapped back to himself and nodded. "I'm not sure I can believe in happy endings anymore. But I would very much like to. To do that, I mean. Stay with you, fix this mess, find somewhere quiet to live out the rest of our years away from it all." He chuckled, feeling tears begin to spill. "Isn't it funny how I never wanted anything like that until it was too late? Humans are strange creatures."

"Please don't say that like you aren't one anymore." There was a flash of desperation in Martin's eyes. "If you keep talking like that, I'll-- I'll have to kiss you to keep you quiet." His face flushed as it surprised by his boldness.

Jon chuckled. "That isn't very good incentive." He buried his face in the crook of Martin's neck and took a deep breath. Being surrounded by his warmth, the solid weight holding him together, Jon wanted nothing more than to live in that moment forever. Many long minutes passed as he memorized the sensations. How soft Martin's sleep-shirt was, the scent of him, the subtle texture of freckles dotting a landscape across his skin. The way he radiated love for Jon until it filled him in a way that the fears never could. It was a bright, healing light, dulling the pain of his scars and easing the tension in his mind. He could breathe it in and feel its weight like sunshine on his skin, so strong and sure that he thought he might be able to reflect it back. 

He'd never known a love like this before. In many ways, it defied description. How could he convey to Martin the sense of Home that his arms provided, when neither of them had anything resembling a normative understanding of the concept? "Love" just happened to be the only word for feeling like his soul had found its place at last, long sought-after without him ever knowing it. A potent combination of dozens of sentiments, the sum of them far greater than any one of its parts.

Meanwhile, the fears scratched at the edges, itching like a scab he was compelled to pick at until a foul pus could begin to ooze out from beneath and infect everything it touched. When they filled him, there was no bright light, but instead the thick blanket of shadow. The fears brought him the satisfaction of watching the moon rise, of watching the light die and knowing that it was the right time for that to happen. It was the acceptance of autumn's chill setting in, of knowing that the world around you would soon die, and that this was how it was always meant to be. 

The only difference was that now, with the entities brought fully into the waking world, there was no going back. The sun would no longer rise to dispel that dark, nothing to prevent the shadow from stretching on forever in every direction until all of existence was dragged down with the weight of it.

Jon sighed. "You know I love you."

"I do."

"And you know I'll do anything in my power to keep you safe."

"Yes, I do." Martin hugged him tighter. "Of course I do."

"Then please, Martin, can you promise me one thing?"

Martin didn't like the way Jon's voice shook. "Anything."

A pause. "Please don't hate me for whatever I have to become to protect you."

It was a crossroads of sorts. Martin could either say that he would love Jon no matter what, and commit himself to loving the man even if he became a monster, or he could say that there was a limit to his love. But was there a limit? As quick as the question formed, so too did its answer.

"Nothing could make me love you any less." As the words left his mouth, he felt a creeping fear push back against that fierce love. What wouldn't he do if it meant keeping Jon safe? All because he couldn't walk away from a lost cause, couldn't admit that this time his optimism was misplaced. No, he told himself, he would do anything for Jon for the exact opposite reason: because he DID believe they could still be saved, and that his optimism wasn't unfounded. It couldn't be.

Jon breathed a sigh of relief against his neck; Martin shivered. "Thank you. I will try my best, you know. I don't want to become a monster, if it isn't too late for that already."

"It can't be."

"Is it so hard to believe that it might be?"

"I don't know, Jon, just, look, can't we just please have this? You know, hope?"

A dozen sarcastic responses sprang into Jon's mind, irritation flaring up in him as he wanted to shout that there was simply nothing left worth hoping for. He wanted to slam his fists against himself over and over again in penance, as if the momentary bruises could ever make up for what he had done. Not even the unyielding sharpness of a knife could be enough. It was impossible not to think about every time he'd read a statement and judged the 'monster' for becoming what it was. The irony stung as he cursed his own shortsightedness in the matter. 

At what point did they stop being people? When did their humanity end, and their monstrousness begin? Did they feel themselves drifting away, as Jon did now, powerless to resist the siren song of that pull forever?

Did any of that even matter in the end, when their actions were still so unspeakably horrible? And if they were truly victims, did that mean that they weren't aberrations after all? When is a monster NOT a monster? It hurt to think about too much.

"I'm not sure if I have it left in me."

Martin placed a lingering kiss to his temple. "Then I'll have to have enough hope for the both of us, love."

Their embrace tightened as a silence fell between them, and Jon thought that maybe love was the difference, that it could save even him. A ridiculous notion he would have dismissed at the start of his career, but having seen firsthand the raw power emotions could generate, it didn't seem so silly anymore.

If anything could save him from what he was becoming, it was love.

**Author's Note:**

> Please Mister Jonny Sims Let Them Live, Let Them Stay Safe And In Love. You Can Hurt Them, Just Please Dont Kill Them, I Beg Of You, My Poor Heart Cant Take It.
> 
> Anyway, much love, thanks for reading, and YELL WITH ME, FRIENDS, FOR THE END IS UPON US


End file.
